Hiding in Plain Sight

Summary- When NCIS are called in on a case in Bludhaven, they find themselves working with a young aspiring police officer named Dick Grayson whose enigmatic ways may prove useful. While friendships bloom, they strive to solve the case of a murdered marine while somehow working alongside Nightwing himself. All the while, Dick must keep his identity a secret. Drugs stabbings assassins

Setting- This story is set within several different universes. I realize that may sound a tiny bit confusing, but it isn't really, so try and bear with me. The NCIS team have Gibbs, Tony, Tim, and Ziva on it, but this story isn't set within a particular season or after a certain episode for them - they're just kinda here, in all their naval investigative glory. The Young Justice side of it is where I might lose you a little. In this story, Dick is a police officer in Bludhaven. Yes, I know this technically does not happen in the Young Justice universe. Just picture this- in the gap between seasons, Dick takes some time off from the team (Wally does it, so why can't Dick?) and decides to become a police officer. I know that calls for more than a five year time gap (since Dick was 18 at the beginning of YJ season 2, and for most police departments you have to be 20-21 to apply), but time isn't really a construct I'm too worried about here. Dick is Nightwing, he is not with the team at the moment, and that is all that matters.

Pairings- There are none. This is not a romantic story. Unless you count friendships as pairings.

Genre/Rating- I settled on Friendship/Adventure, but I think a more accurate genre would be Friendship/Adventure/Humor/Mystery/Crime/Hurt/Comfort. Just saying. Rating is T.

Disclaimer- I don't own the NCIS universe, or the Young Justice universe, or the characters in either one. Sadly. Because if I did, NCIS would still have Ziva, and Young Justice would never had had a time skip, and would be wrapping up with season 4 (?) right now. I can still dream.

Author's Notes- This story has been my brainchild for a little bit now. It probably came to fruition when I realized in all of , there were only 5 YJ/NCIS crossovers. I know, whaaat? That's crazy. Here are two universes that deal in different kinds of bad guys, and no one has written anything that actually brings the two together on a case. So, my muse was tickled, and I sat down and wrote an outline that was my every thought for about a week.

Let me just say, in this story, Dick is Nightwing, but he is mentally probably a little bit more like Robin. The Nightwing in season 2 is way too stiff and mature for my taste, and I don't know what could have made Dick have such a drastic personality change, but let me just say, I'm not having any of it. As I'm sure you'll find out soon enough.

This story is one I hope I stick with to the very end, because potentially, there could be sequels/prequels to this thing. Which yes, my muse is already itching me to work on and obsess over. But right now, I am fully dedicated to this literary work. So... enjoy :)

Chapter 1

Describe your experience with your FTO (Field Training Officer), giving specific details to procedural codes followed. How do you feel this patrol was carried out? What, in your opinion, could have been improved upon? What will you do differently in your next patrol?

Dick rubbed at his eyes as the bold, italicized print messed with his sleep deprived brain, and he couldn't help but utter a sigh as he leafed through the booklet-sized monster of a training booklet. The words that floated across his retinas were tired, dull, and repetitive. Halfway through this damned thing, three months into his field training as a cop, and he had yet to write anything remotely interesting into the grass green booklet that taunted him with words of 'To Protect and Serve' over the Bludhaven Police Department seal. If that was what he was really doing, then he wouldn't be so tempted to run this thing through a shredder and offer it up as litter box material to the next pet shop he saw.

Dick sat back in the office chair (which he had deemed as a passable seat), and leveled a glare at the book, which sat taunting him atop his wooden, cluttered desk. He was three months into his field training, and had three left to go before this pamphlet was a thing of the past. And he couldn't be happier about that fact. It was the only thing curbing his frustration at this point, the only thing keeping him relatively traught.

And yet, on the other hand, there'd been something strangely… nostalgic about the rigorous testing he'd been put through to become an officer of the law. Maybe he was crazy, but when he'd finished the entrance exam with the other applicants and turned in booklet filled with the questions that tested his heightened senses of observation and recall, he could've sworn he'd look up and see Batman glancing over his answers, a discreet lifting of the corner of his mouth the only indicator of Robin's achievement. Practically a shout of approval from Batman. When they'd been put through the physical ability test, it felt just like one of the drills Batman had run him through until his body was nothing but corded muscle (or maybe a warmup for one of those drills…). The academy itself had been the most reminiscent of his days as Batman's apprentice, whether it be the physical training, the Emergency Vehicle Operations Course, and the lessons in laws and ethics. He knew it wasn't the same caliber as the Batman's training, but he put all his effort into it anyway. That could very well be the reason he was the top of his class.

But now… now he needed action. Dick was a person who needed to move, needed to be headed on to his next thing seconds after he was done with the first. He wanted to finally take off the kid gloves and do the job that this city needed him to do. He needed to see the fear in criminals' eyes as they were apprehended, the understanding dawn on their face as they realized that reality was crashing down around them. He needed to know he was doing right by whatever city he was in so that the streets were a safer place for all. He wasn't permitted to do that as a cop yet, because he was about as green as they got, but at least he still had the night to swing among the concrete towers in the sky and hunt down felons like he'd been doing for more than half of his life.

"Dick, if you stare any harder at that thing it's going to spontaneously combust," a combative voice stated. Dick lifted his eyes in time to see Amy Rohrbach depositing a foot tall stack of paper on her desk in front of him. Her strict brunette ponytail and hanging bangs swung with her head as she turned back to face him, her brown eyes stern.

Dick couldn't suppress the quirky smile that spread across his face. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, Amy – it would make really, really good kindling."

She rolled her eyes. "Shut up and smell the roses, rookie. If you marry the force, paperwork will be your mistress. You haven't even seen the half of it yet, and you're already complaining. Just wait until you actually get out in the field."

Actually, I can't wait. Like, at all. "You know, I think I'll take my chances. What are the odds we go out one last time tonight?" Amy glared at him, murder clearly on her mind. Clearly she was trying to skirt the round of paperwork she had to fill out every time they went out, too. Dick decided to hit the nail on the hammer. "I'll do all the arresting reports for two weeks."

She eyed him suspiciously, the deal obviously sending up red flags in her mind. Dick couldn't blame her – arresting reports were tedious, long ordeals, but were largely full of filler information. They were necessary, but largely a waste of paper. If only Bludhaven would get on the ball and go electronic for every case, he thought wistfully…It would be so much easier for Nightwing to find what he needed on the badies…He snapped his mind back to attention.

Dick knew Amy wasn't just suspicious because of the tedious nature of the paperwork involved, and the obviously stilted deal. Amy had been on the force a while now, and Dick knew she was one of the more senior officers around. Because of this, she was fully aware of the corruption coursing through the Bludhaven police force like a venereal disease. The Boy Wonder knew the very concept of corrupt police officers disturbed the strong-principaled cop, going against everything she stood for and believed in. It wasn't something that could be easily fought, however – Dick had witnessed the full extent of the corruption that ran through the city and the police that guarded it. It was the very reason he'd been attracted to this city in the first place. The crooked ways of this city were so blatant it made Gotham look almost tame. Almost.

Now, Dick was, in a way, asking Amy to trust him, a fresh-faced cop right out of the academy. Dick couldn't blame her for being dubious – in Bludhaven, it was best to assume everyone was crooked to prevent yourself from being screwed over. After all, if it seems like everyone is out to get you, they probably are. Amy didn't have a team like he once had, people she could trust and confide in and would always have her back. In this city, Dick's offer could very well be his way of messing with her career by writing false or inaccurate reports. Dick would never in a million years do something like that, but the probability of someone else doing the exact same was high in this precinct. No, with Amy her hackles were always raised and her walls had never come completely down. And Dick was no different.

That was why Dick was infinitely surprised when Amy grabbed her jacket and keys from her desk and headed briskly for the door. "Move it or lose it rookie." He grinned widely as he headed for the door, bouncing with energy as he trailed on her heels. This was just what he needed to end the cop part of his day the right way.

Dick could barely contain his excitement as they both slid into the vehicle and took off down the streets of Bludhaven. Looking out the window, Dick observed with a keen eye at the well-worn buildings, the dilapidated apartments that scraped the looming dark sky between the golden street lights. Hints of the homeless peeked out from alleyways, dirty faces and tattered clothing trailing in the chilly air. Like Gotham, the city felt like a living, breathing creature beneath him, the streets running like veins through its dark center, and Dick could feel the same disease that had coursed its way through Gotham rampaging through Bludhaven, but stronger and more deadly. It left the same aftertaste on the city. Desperation. Helplessness. A general loss of hope and happiness for all.

"If you don't stop tapping, you're going to permanently lose your hand. You have been warned," Amy's voice warned on his left. Dick realized he'd been tapping his thumb against the passenger door in a nonsensical frenzy, and quickly removed his valued phalange.

"Touchy, touchy. You know, if you're not careful, people might actually be able to tell you like me under all that tough exterior." Dick gave her a sideways grin before settling into the cushy passenger seat, melding his butt into the grey cloth.

"And when that day comes, I'll know it's time to retire, because I'll know I've gone senile."

Dick pretended to flinch. "Oo, harsh. Words hurt, you know."

"Grayson… knock it off. This isn't play time, this is a job, so keep your eyes peeled and keep alert. We're on the clock here." Dick heard her voice toe the line between mentor and mother, and he grudgingly agreed. Amy ran a tight ship, but he couldn't deny that she kept him sharp as a tack. She was almost as no-nonsense as Bruce, except with the mouth of a sailor. Suffice to say, he'd picked up a few choice phrases.

Silence reigned once again in the car's interior, and Dick was just finished running through police scanner codes in his head when the radio blipped on, giving a short blast of static before a male voice spoke. "Base to C-13, come in. Over."

Amy grabbed the radio and flipped the power button. "C-13, acknowledged." Dick's heart had started fluttering in anticipation.

"C-13, there's a 245, 417 taking place on Roosevelt and 9th. Reroute and respond immediately."

"10-4. On our way. C-13 out." Amy turned off the radio and glanced toward Dick. "245…?"

Dick didn't hesitate. "245, assault with deadly weapon. 417, person with a gun. We're obviously assuming that's the deadly weapon in this case."

Amy nodded. "Correct. Repeat the rules to me Dick." The siren above the cab of the car started wailing, cutting into the relative quiet of the night as red and blue lights bounced off the store windows all around them as they raced through the streets.

Dick ground his teeth audibly, his frustration with the insane, stupid, ridiculous rule showing through. "Don't get out of the car. If that's not feasible, don't engage."

Amy pulled into a parking lot right off of the intersection from the report. It was dark, but lit by one bright overhead lamp casting broad shadows that stretched onto nearby buildings. Cars were scattered haphazardly across the lot, and there seemed to be no one in sight or nearby. Dick shifted in his seat, still agitated, and Amy whipped her head to glare at him. "I'm serious Dick. It's the rules – you're not a full fledged cop of the precinct yet, not until you pass your field training, and until then you're a liability."

"Liability?," Dick seethed. "I'm hardly a liability; you know that. I'm the best shot out of my class, possibly the precinct, and somehow I'm a hindrance to the force? To you? I can help, Amy." Dick had been struggling with this impossible rule for three months of field training, and there wasn't a day that passed that he didn't think of it as preposterous. How was he supposed to train on the job if he wasn't allowed into the thick of things? It was like Batman and the Joker all over again.

"Dick." Amy's voice was steel, reinforced with titanium lining and alloy support beams. "This isn't up for debate, now or ever. Stay in the cruiser." She looked back out at the empty parking lot, and opened the door. Dick could see her head scanning, her eyes quickly analyzing the situation with a speed even Batman might be proud of.

She lifted herself out of the car and stood behind the open door, both her hands firmly secured on her Glock 22. Dick saw the wave of calm wash over her as she held the gun, its' solid weight seeming to provide her with a sense of calm that she didn't have before, altering her in a way that maybe she wasn't even aware of.

Bang! Bang!

The sounds of gunshots sounded through the night, unsilenced and unapologetic. Both bullets hit the front end of the police cruiser, shaking Dick slightly inside the cab. Instantly Dick's eyes were searching for a culprit, someone who had evaded them when they first pulled in. He was vaguely aware of Amy ducking behind the door, finding safety behind the metal frame.

There! Three figures bathed in shadows staggered out from behind a white van, which had hidden them from Dick at first. He eyed the three and sensed that something wasn't right. The group of men (it was obviously men, based on the broad shoulders and heights) weren't moving smoothly – they staggered along quickly. Two of the men seemed to both tug and support the third, who was clearly struggling but not with any substantial strength. His movements seemed jerky and confused, like a fish flopping out of water.

To his left, Amy suddenly rocketed back to her feet and stood, her gun stiffly in front of her as she let loose several bullet rounds. Her face was pinched and tight, and Dick was suddenly sure her glare could kill as surely as any bullet. If looks could kill, right? Get some lessons from Batman and her glare would be lethal.

The figures stopped with a dark grey Mercury Montego sandwiched between them and the cop car. The third man was dragged into a shield position as one of the men drew him close, and Dick saw the glint of silver as a gun was raised. Panic clenched his stomach as he shouted, "Amy, get down!"

Three short blasts came from the assailants weapon. Three quick shots fired into a relatively small area. Dick saw the two close, small holes in Amy's body as she was struck in the left shoulder. He watched with growing horror as her body shuddered and fell, her body falling bonelessly to the pavement with a thud. No, No, No! Almost as soon as he made to move across the consul and to his partner, there was a bang and the windshield shattered. Dick had a split second to throw his arm over his head before glass was raining down around him, cutting through his uniform. He might've been hurt – he couldn't tell. He couldn't feel anything.

His training took over as the shooting continued, the blasts ripping through the silent night around them. In an instant he was behind his own car door, crouching as he fingered his Glock. His hands seemed to take the weapon out of its holster of their own accord, switching the safety off and checking the chamber with a practiced, steady hand.

His body may have been calm, but his mind certainly wasn't. There was Amy, who he was certain was alive, but injured. Double tap to the shoulder – not fatal, but time sensitive. She could bleed out soon if she doesn't get help. Again panic threatened to strangle him, grasping his throat in its iron fist as he thought about his mentor, his take-no-bullshit Batman surrogate. She could die if something wasn't done, and fast.

Then do something, Batman's voice growled in his ear. Think. What's the obstacle between you and saving Amy?

The shooters. Dick realized. If he took out the shooters, he'd have a clear path to get to Amy and the assailants would be downed. Kill two birds with one stone.

Securing the Glock in his hand, he rose to mid crouch in between the car body and the car door. In the canyon between the two he settled his gun. Instantly he was analyzing, taking in everything before him.

One of the men, blonde and shorter, was running across the parking lot toward an alleyway between two buildings. Dick would have liked to down him, but the shot was too close between him and the victim, and despite not knowing the third man's condition, he didn't want to harm him any further. The blonde man quickly rounded a corner and was gone.

His eyes quickly took in the other man. The taller, darker man had pushed the third man away so he was leaning his legs against the Montego, and had his gun aimed at the man's chest. Dick could see the man's lips moving, but no words carried across the lot. The victim was swaying slightly, and Dick could see that the dark man was getting increasingly agitated – trails of his angry voice carried across.

Dick knew he had to act quickly. The darker man would soon shoot his victim, and Dick knew he couldn't let that happen. His gun was loaded and ready, and the man's head lined up with Dick's trigger… everything lined up with his sights…there was no wind, the man wasn't moving…

And yet, Dick couldn't take the shot. He blinked heavily at the realization. No matter what that man had done, whether it be hurting his victim or hurting Amy, he couldn't put that bullet through his head.

It wasn't that he was incapable. Dick had proven himself over and over on the range during training, proving he could hit dead center every time. Any gun would certainly work for him. But that wasn't the problem. The problem was, after nine months carrying and shooting the thing, it still wasn't a comfortable fit in his hand. The gun felt alien and wrong, like harbinger of death in a shiny metal casing. Every time his finger inched toward the trigger, he heard Batman's – Bruce's – voice in his head. This is the weapon of the enemy. We do not need it. We will not use it.

Dick's mind ran a mile a minute, his hands still wrapped tightly around the gun. I still have to save Amy and the other man. I can't save her unless I take down the guy or his gun. I can't get close to him without being shot. And a gun… is my only weapon. His hand shook slightly around the gun. I won't kill. I won't.

His eyes widened slightly. But maybe I won't have to.

His eyes flashed back to the two men. The argument seemed to have stopped, and they were both staring at each other. The victim had his back to the squad car, and Dick had a full frontal view of the assailant. He literally couldn't get a better shot if Heaven had intervened. Squinting slightly, he spotted what he was aiming for. It was a small spot, almost impossible to hit, but Dick had done it before with a Batarang. He took a deep breath, aimed, and fired.

In another universe, the shot would have hit its mark. The wind was still, there were no distractions, and Dick was one of the best marksmen to grace the face of the planet. In another, kinder universe, the shot would have been a perfect one.

In this universe, however, things weren't quite so clear cut. In this universe, in the stillness of the night, in the calm before the shitstorm, the man with the gun saw the infinitesimal movement of Dick's shoulders as he took his deep breath. Dick's shot rang out, but the man had already moved, his gun gravitating like a magnet towards Dick's hiding spot. He wasn't fast enough.

Dick saw the .40 S & W bullet strike the man, the bullet's force seeming to ripple through his body. The man dropped like a cut marionette, and Dick felt dread sinking to his stomach like a stone. In the same instant, the victim lay across the car hood with a quiet fwump. Dick had missed, and now…now everything was falling apart.

Slowly, he rose from behind the car door. His footsteps were quiet but rang out in the silence as he made his way across the parking lot toward the two men, both of which were still as he approached. The light from above the parking lot shone down on their bodies, casting odd shadows across their faces. Dick's stomach churned.

Coming up to the victim first, he paused as he took in the scene. The man had short, cropped hair, and large, muscular arms protruding from a blue polo. On one bicep he had a large tattoo. His entire body was covered in a sheen of sweat, and Dick could see deep purple shadows under his eyes.

It wasn't any of this that caught his attention, however. Dick's eyes were drawn to the large bloodstain that started in the middle of his stomach and had dripped its way down to the top of his jeans. The amount of blood that was there…Dick steeled himself as he reached for the man's pulse on the side of his neck. Underneath the wet, sweaty skin he felt…nothing. Whoever this poor man was, Dick hadn't reached him in time.

He turned to the other man. This man he knew without a doubt was dead. The man was Latino or Mexican in descent, and his whole torso was also covered in blood, albeit a higher wound.

Dick had missed his mark, and now someone was dead. His palms were sweating against the barrel. He could only imagine Bruce's face if he found out his former student had just killed someone in cold blood. He could only imagine how his eyes would harden, turning on Dick as he walked away from someone who couldn't uphold his teachings.

Dick had never killed before. Not with a Batarang, not with his hands…not with a gun. He'd taken every word Batman had told him to heart and practiced it like they were the commandments themselves. Because to Batman, they were.

We can't turn into that which we prey. If we do, there's no turning back.

What did that mean for him?

A small cough echoed across the parking lot, and Dick's head whipped in the direction of the intrusion. His eyes found their way to the cop car, and Dick was moving before any conscious thought had entered his mind.

Amy lay behind the cop car door, her eyes closed and her skin a sickly pale. Her shoulder was drenched in sticky red blood, and it spread with morbid viscosity onto the pavement around her. Without thinking, Dick placed his hands on her chest, ignoring the warm liquid underneath his hands as he tried to stop the blood flow.

There had to be at least one person he could save tonight.

TBC

A/N- So, the race is officially started (it's an expression, I'm not actually racing). As for update schedule... honestly, I hate to make one at all, because then I won't update on time, and then people will be sad. So, my promise to you is that I'll update as frequently as I can. That is the best I can do. My muse is finicky, and I hate to update without something worthwhile. She so would do that to me too, btw.

And don't worry, the next chapter is thoroughly NCIS :)

Please read, review, favorite, follow...whatever your heart desires. I love to read comments/questions/concerns/ideas, because they keep me and my muse motivated